


Adam Young

by MrProphet



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 17:14:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10701489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	1. Vengeance

“Aye! I'll chase you round home tech, and round the labs, and round the soccer team changing rooms, and round perdition's flames. I’ll chase you till you spout black blood and roll fin out!”

Susan Cole backed away before those flashing eyes and cried out in horror: “Alright, alright! Take the stupid thing! I don’t want it!”

Adam Young sprawled on the bench with insouciant languor that only he seemed capable of achieving without tautology. “A bit strong, don’t you think Pepper? For a marble, I mean.”


	2. A Stupid Idea

“Don’t be daft!” Pepper snapped angrily. “I’m never getting married. Boys are dumb.”

“Even us?” Brian asked.

“’Specially you,” Pepper retorted with a superior sniff.

“Even me?” Adam asked innocently.

“I… Well…”

Brian and Wensleydale sniggered.

Pepper snorted. “And the reason I know he’s not dumb is that he’s never going to get married. Are you?”

Adam laughed. “I’ll get married when you get married, Pep,” he said.

“And I’ll get married when you get married,” Pepper retorted.

“Maybe you’ll end up marrying each other,” Wensleydale suggested.

Adam and Pepper both glowered at him. “As if,” they declared as one.


	3. Risk Assessment

“Slipping,” Mr Jones suggested. “Some of the steps in the bell tower are like glass.”

Ms Smith nodded. “Risk?”

“Four,” he replied. “Severity five; we could lose a whole class if the one at the top goes.”

“If only,” Ms Smith chuckled. “Solution: warn children, supervision at five-to-one, yadda-yadda.”

“At which point, risk one, severity unchanged,” Mr Jones agreed. “Anything else?”

Ms Smith was silent.

“Ms Smith?”

“Well… we are taking Miss Darling’s class.”

“Oh?” Mr Jones sat up a little bit straighter in his seat.

“Yes,” Ms Smith sighed wearily. “Her entire class. Including Adam Young.”

The look of reverie fell from Mr Jones’s face in a moment. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

No-one in the school really talked about the things that happened when Adam Young was involved, they just all knew.

“Oh,” Mr Jones said again. “So… risk of armed insurgents seizing the cathedral during the visit?”

“On past experience, that’s a five,” Ms Smith sighed. “Still, severity one. At the worst Miss Darling will be kidnapped and one of us will end up in hospital,” she added, rubbing her arm ruefully.

“Right.”

“What about a gas explosion?”

“Probably a three,” Mr Jones decided. He groaned again. “I’ll fetch another form.”


	4. Hazing

Mr Briggs stared at the tin on his desk. "What is that?" he asked his foreman, Hobbs.

"It's Young, sir. He brought me that."

Briggs took a pen and stirred the paint. "It's... striped," he noted.

"Yes, sir."

Briggs dropped the pen into the tin and sealed the lid. "I didn't see this," he decided. "Neither of us did."

"Right you are, Mr B," Hobbs agreed with a sigh of relief. "And, um... what should I do with the left-handed spanner and the sky hook?"


	5. When... well, you know

The organ began to play, and the bride and her father walked slowly along the aisle. Family and friends looked on, and whispered to each other how lovely she looked, and how lucky he was, or – on the groom’s side – how lucky she was.

At the back of the groom’s side, however, stood two men who were having a very different conversation.

“It’s not exactly… traditional,” Aziraphale noted.

“I like it,” Crowley said. “Don’t you like it, Angel? I suppose you think black isn’t suitable for a wedding.”

“Oh, for this wedding I think it’s eminently suitable,” Aziraphale allowed, “but should a wedding dress really be so… figure-hugging.”

Crowley grinned.

“Did you have a hand in the design?” Aziraphale sighed.

“I might have had something to do with the dress,” the demon replied with feigned hurt, “but if God didn’t want people thinking impure thoughts, he shouldn’t make girls who look like that.”

Aziraphale shook his head in disgust. “But… she does look good.”

Crowley wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “Oh, only the best for our little boy,” he said.

“He’s hardly  _our_  little boy.”

“Oh, I don’t know. We both had a hand in raising the little tyke.”

“No,” Aziraphale corrected. “That was the other one."

In front of the altar, Adam Young turned to glance over his shoulder. He smiled a smile that could have – indeed, by rights should have – led nations into ruin, but which somehow just ended up winning the hearts of everyone he met in a way that, almost iraculously, hurt no-one.

“This one just sort of muddled through on his own, remember?”

“I try not to,” Crowley admitted. “The men downstairs were not happy about the mix up, and frankly they’re not hppy with this turn of affairs, hence the dress. I need to start delivering or they’re going to have my hide.”

“Why?” Aziraphale demanded. “Are they that resentful of human happi… Oh, look at her hair! I love what she’s done with it.”

Crowley shook his head in disgust. “No wonder people always think we’re dating. I bet you’ve brought rice, haven’t you?”

“What if I have?” Aziraphale demanded defensively.

Crowley sighed. “And no, they don’t resent human happiness; in fact they rather like it. It’s a fine incentive to sin. What they can’t stand is cold.”

“Cold?”

“Well, you know how Adam is  _his_  son?”

“Well, we do  _now_ ,” Aziraphale agreed.

“And you know how that allows him to alter the world around him, at least in regards to those aspects of the world in which  _he_  has authority?”

“Yes.”

“And… you know how young humans sometimes say things, like how they’ll only get marries when… well, you know?”

Aziraphale nodded in understanding. “So he said…?”

“Let’s just say, if I want to go home I’ll need a thicker coat.”

The priest told Adam that he could kiss the bride; the bride beat him to it.

Crowley made a big show of dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. The cloth smouldered.

“Are you crying.” Aziraphale asked.

“Shut up, Angel.”

“Is that confetti in your pocket?”

“I said, shut up.”


	6. After

YOUNG. PARTY OF ONE.

“Two,” Adam said.

The sapphire sparks flickered in the hollow eye sockets of the skull face as Death blinked in surprise.

YOU REALISE THAT YOU ARE, IN THE MOST ACCURATE SENSE OF THE WORD, IMMORTAL?

Adam nodded. “In that I'm not a mortal. But as I understand it I have absolute influence over anything which lies within my father's dominion; which includes me.”

AND YOU WANT TO DIE?

Adam nodded.

THEN IT IS SO. Death swung his scythe and parted the two souls from their bodies. 

Adam offered his wife his hand and they stood together, each as young and strong and beautiful as the other had always seen them.

Death coughed softly. HAVE YOU CONSIDERED WHERE YOU WILL BE GOING? he asked. GIVEN YOUR UNIQUE POSITION, YOU HAVE THE RARE LUXURY OF CHOSING YOUR DESTINATION.

The couple held a whispered conversation.

WELL? Death asked. HEAVEN OR HELL?

“No,” Adam replied.

Death was rarely confused, but if pressed he would freely admitted to being gobsmacked. NO?

“We thought we might try something different,” Adam explained.

SO BE IT. ALTHOUGH I AM NOT LOOKING FORWARD TO THE PAPERWORK ON THIS ONE.


End file.
